


never go back

by silent_masque



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Dreams, First Dates, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 18:56:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9285530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silent_masque/pseuds/silent_masque
Summary: Mila snatches his phone away before Yuri can get it back. She tosses it to him just as quickly, but the damage is already done.Me [14:21]it’s a date! ♥What did he do to deserve this? Who did he hurt? “I don’t even use hearts. What the fuck.”(the building, breakdown, and rebuild of a relationship)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lumieres](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lumieres/gifts).



> ty to pum and shelby for listening to me bitch about this fic for like three weeks  
> still in progress there are indeed two more parts somewhere along the way, unfortunately i do not have a date for you  
> maybe after my mcat?

Spires. Spires and lights. On – over – the river, drenched in gold. Towers dripping gold, like falling stars, like water.

When Yuri spins through the city – spinning, lights, meteoric – and he stands at the peak, over the city, the world spreads out under him. He can reach down, scoop up the lights (like stars) in his hands.

His. It’s his. This is his. When the stars (like lights) spill out of his hands, it’s his. When they’re blown off on the wind, into the dark of the city, they’re still his. When he reaches for them, the hand that stretches out of the light (beautiful and golden) is also his.

The hand slots gentle and golden and warm against his and pulls him into the light.

xxx

There’s not enough time in the world for this bullshit. Like what the fuck is this equation even, huh? And this whole assignment? A real piece of fucking work. If he has to see another goddamn variable, this textbook’s going down the goddamn stairwell.

Yuri buries his head in his arms. If he bites down on his lip, he won’t yell in the middle of the library. Because unlike everyone else in this forsaken building, he can stay fucking contained and not make any noise – the hushed whispers and the shuffling papers and the popping gum.

When he closes his eyes, he can almost imagine flinging himself into bed, a finished econ assignment thrown in his bag to be turned in for tomorrow. Or even better, the whole class dropped and gone, never to touch an econ textbook ever again.

Yuri bites down on the strings off his hoodie and glares at the textbook in front of him instead. Hard work is supposed to pay off in the end, but there’s no end in sight here. Besides the hurtling edge of a terrible GPA if he doesn’t pull himself together and finish this stupid assignment.

But first. Coffee. Shitty vending machine chips that he’ll regret eating tomorrow morning. A walk.

He makes eye contact with the Mila, motioning down at his things, and she nods. Freedom at least, for, like, fifteen minutes.

The library is a grim and stately building. Straight lines and austere edges. It imposes itself on campus, and the inside is the same. Yuri hates studying here the most, but he can’t focus in his room, where his roommate probably thinks that fucking his girlfriend will make up for biology. But the café on the first floor is warm and bustling, filled with chatter, meetings, and the smell of sweet, sweet coffee.

Yuri stumbles into the line just in time. It’s on its way out the door after that. The man in front of him has a black leather jacket that looks soft enough for Yuri to sink his face into.

Coffee. Coffee will fix this. If the line would just move.

It’s not a bad day, but it’s getting there. Yuri grinds the heel of his hands against his eyes. It doesn’t chase the sleepiness away, but he does get a nudge in the back from the guy behind him. He could stick his tongue out at the guy, but he’s not fifteen anymore.

The side-eye is enough, anyways.

“What can I get you, sir?” The barista’s smile looks about as dead as he feels inside.

“Large coffee. Light roast. I don’t need any room in it. Just fill it to the top.” He pauses while he pulls out his wallet. “Please.”

He’s not sleeping against the counter when the barista talks to him again.  “The man before you just paid for your drink, actually.”

“What?”

“Him, over there.” They (he’s making any assumptions, okay) point to the end of the bar, to the man in the leather jacket sitting on the stool at the end. What might be his messenger bag is sitting on the counter. There’s a cup of tea warm in his hands, white ceramic cup with a worn border of gold around the rim. “Your coffee?”

The cup is innocuous on the counter. There’s a little cartoon fish on the cup holder. Can he chug this much coffee?

“Spasibo,” he mutters. He thinks he mutters, at least, when he grabs the cup.

A man buying him coffee. Mila is going to flip when he tells her. Which. He could conceivably not tell her, but she probably knows the barista and they’ll tell her. She’ll find out somehow.

Yuri edges over to the bar. The seat next to the man doesn’t _look_ taken when Yuri wanders over. Should he say something?

“Hey.” The man turns around, enough to face Yuri. And he has a really, really nice undercut. His eyes are dark. And harder than Yuri was expecting. But they don’t look scary. He doesn’t look scary. That scary. Serious, a little solemn, but not scary. “Why’d you buy me coffee?”

The man shrugs. “You seemed like you could use it.” He holds out his hand. “I wanted to do something nice for you.”

Mystery man buying him coffee wanting to shake his hand. That’s not suspicious at all. Mila is definitely going to have a laughing fit when she hears about this.

Yuri sips – with restraint, even – his coffee and doesn’t blink.

Okay. Blinks a little.

But the man stares back, with his hand still extended. The other is curled – delicately, still – around the teacup. The little band of gold on the rim is still just visible. They can keep staring at each other, but the other man is clearly waiting on something.

Taking the man’s hand feels like admitting something. Or maybe giving something up. But his hand is tea-warm and worn and fits against Yuri’s like it was made to. “Yuri. Yuri Plisetsky.”

The man nods. “Otabek Altin.” Otabek shakes his hand once before he pulls it back to wrap around his tea. Yuri’s goes back around his coffee cup, which is warm, but honestly, he might like Otabek’s hand a little more.

“So? Why’d you really buy me coffee?” He doesn’t sound as annoyed as he thinks he should. Random strangers buying him coffee. Grandpa would have a fit if he found out, shit. Except it was…a sweet gesture? But what’s wrong with this guy, Otabek, that he can just buy some stranger’s coffee for them? Does Yuri look like he needs handouts?

“I wanted to do something nice for you.” Otabek’s face is completely straight when he pulls his cup closer. Is he fucking with Yuri?

“But _why_? That’s a shitty reason,” he says. The next swig of his coffee he takes is more vindictive. Good. Means that the coffee’s working. “You already told me that one.”

Otabek fucking _shrugs_. Is he even allowed to do that? What the fuck? “You seemed familiar. I wanted to be nice.”

And he’s being nice still, because he still hasn’t drunk anything from his tea. Like he _wants_ to talk to Yuri or something. Is that what’s happening here? Conversation? He’s only a little put-off by the thought. The coffee is truly doing wonders. Yuri can’t even feel the headache behind his eyes anymore.

“From where, then?” His tone’s mellowed out. Yuri knows how he comes across; being abrasive is mostly on purpose. But it makes Otabek _smile_. And that makes something flutter in Yuri’s chest. Something warm and gold.

What the fuck? If he drinks more coffee, maybe he can drown it.

“I don’t think you’d believe me, but I’ve seen you around. In class? You have Dmitry Petrovich for Macro? In the big lecture hall. It’s the class before mine.” Otabek finally takes a sip of his tea, the shade of a smile on his lips. “You seem to walk out of most of your classes frowning, though.”

Yuri scoffs into his coffee. That’s putting it lightly. “Macro can kiss my ass. You took it too, didn’t you? What, are you an econ major too?” Well, calling Yuri an econ major still is probably too generous. Macro is definitely not helping.

“Finance. But close. I took Macro last year. You’ll make it,” Otabek says. His fingers twitch against his teacup. Like he’s itching to hold something else. But he smiles so sincerely that for a half second, Yuri almost _trusts_ Otabek. And that he’ll manage Macro.

He doesn’t mean to snort, but that’s some real wishful thinking right there.

“Right. I’ve got to get _back_ to Macro now, actually.” The glare into his coffee cup is particularly scathing. Otabek may believe that Yuri can get through Macro, but he’s probably the only one. He frowns down at the cup in his hands instead of making eye contact with Otabek. He doesn’t deserve that kind of support for all of the bitching he’s done about Macro so far. (Which actually begs the question of _how much more bitching is he going to have to go through_?)

He doesn’t chug his coffee again – but he will, when he heads up the stairs – and sips evenly instead. The café has enough chatter to fill the space between them, while Yuri tries to find it in himself to actually go back upstairs to finish his assignment. He wishes he could take the seat next to Otabek and continue avoiding Macro.

If they talk more, Otabek won’t be a stranger anymore, right? Then any coffee he buys for Yuri isn’t sketchy anymore. But Mila will still have a laughing fit.

“I guess,” Yuri starts, and pauses because that’s a stupid way to start a sentence. “Uh, thanks? For the coffee. It was nice. Like, a good surprise.”

And there’s Otabek’s fucking smile again, which sets off the warmth in Yuri’s chest all over again. If he hides behind his coffee cup, will that cover the flush on his face?

“You’re welcome. I’m glad that I could make you happy.” The fucking sincerity is going to kill Yuri. “Macro will end eventually. You can make it till then. I’ll see you around, Yura?”

Otabek says his name well. Fuck.

Yuri nods instead, because anything he says is going to be moronic. Better to flee back upstairs.

xxx

Mila does laugh. The ugly, hag cackling that she does when someone (Yuri, mostly) does something particularly stupid. Like take coffee that strangers buy for him at library cafés and continue to talk to them even though all he needs to say is thanks and leave.

She finally _stops_ laughing, but only because she’s laughing so hard she starts coughing and has to drink some water.

Yuri hopes she fucking chokes on it. She’s been laughing for five goddamn minutes. How is she not done yet? If he hides his face in the table, maybe he’ll be swallowed by the dining hall itself and become one with the gothic architecture.

“So, so was he just waiting for you to say something to him? Like, like holding out his hand for you to shake? How could you keep him waiting like that?”

What will it take to become one with the table?

“Yes. Yes, okay, I stared at him because what the fuck was I supposed to do?” Yuri mutters into the table. Mila can hear him anyways, because she has evil magic hag hearing or something like that. He shifts enough to prop his chin on the table. Not to look at her. Not at all. His nose is starting to hurt is all. He glares at the salt shaker instead. “I shook his hand in the end, okay? I even introduced myself first.”

“You said Otabek, right?” Mila actually looks thoughtful, of all things. Which is not a good sign for Yuri’s health. Especially when she goes for her phone. “Otabek Altin?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve heard of him too,” Yuri groans. Forehead back on the table. Of course Mila would know Otabek. She knows everybody.  And if she doesn’t know someone, either she _makes_ herself friends with them, or her girlfriend Sala is friends with them instead, and Mila gets to know them _anyways_.

“Well, sure! He’s in finance. I heard he’s from Kazakhstan, but he’s kind of quiet, isn’t he?” Mila hums, scrolling through something on her phone, turns it around to show Yuri. “Him, right?”

Otabek’s Instagram. Fuck.

He grabs for Mila’s phone, scrolling frantically through Otabek’s insta feed. Most of his pictures are starkly monochromatic, sharp blacks and soft whites. Some of his photos have the hint of handlebars in them, colored by faded sunlight. One – from summer vacation, Yuri thinks – has a full motorbike in the picture, parked on an empty strip of wild beach. The same aesthetic carries him through years, except for the occasional picture of him smiling – his fucking sincere smile – taken by someone else.

It doesn’t quite knock the air out Yuri, but it makes something in him yearn for that quiet simplicity.

“Hey, can I get my phone back? I want to look him up on VK!” Yuri sticks his tongue out at her instead, scrolling back to the top of the feed to look through his pictures again.

“Yura, use your own phone!” Mila whines, grabbing lazily for her phone again. Yuri leans back to keep scrolling instead. “I think I have a class with him, you know.”

He pauses.

“You’re a history major. There’s no way you have a class with him.”

“I’ll tell him you were creeping on his insta.” Her grin is too sharp.

“There’s no way you have a class with him,” Yuri says, cradling her phone against his chest. “No way.”

“If you don’t give me my phone back, I’ll tell him,” she says. Sings in his goddamn face.

“Fine. _Fine_.” Giving Mila her phone back is a tactical retreat, not a surrender. That’s what Yuri tells himself when he sinks back into his seat to sulk. Well, not sulk because he’s not actually fifteen. But maybe he allows himself a little sulking.

“Why don’t you just follow him?” Mila’s back on her phone. Probably looking Otabek on VK right now. How is Yuri even supposed to live this down? “You can even use your own phone for that.”

“Do you think I’m stupid? I’m not following him!” He makes sure that his phone is zipped away in his jacket pocket, where Mila can’t pull it out without him noticing. “He’s going to know I was stalking him, then! All he did was buy me some coffee. I’m not following him for that.”

Mila laughs. She has a nice laugh, when she’s not cackling like a hag. If they hadn’t met as children, Yuri’s sure they still would’ve run into each other somehow, and she would’ve still wormed her way into being his friend. He wouldn’t be friends with her if he actually hated her; her support had been invaluable for more years than Yuri can remember, but especially so, when he was hopping majors last semester. But, she’s also the one who recommended _econ_ to him, so there’s no way Yuri can actually like her that much anymore.

“But what if you see him again? What if he wants to buy you coffee again?” Mila’s eyes light up. That’s the worst sign. “Or. _Or_ what if he finds you on insta and asks to follow you? What would you do then, huh?”

“It’s not going to happen. Shut up and eat your fries already,” he mumbles to the table.

“Fine, but I’m adding him on VK. You can keep being a baby about it if you want,” Mila says. And she does indeed bite down on another fry.

“Hurry up and eat already.” Yuri pulls out his phone and opens Instagram, and okay, maybe he pulls open Otabek’s insta again. “I want to go sleep already.”

xxx

_yura?_

Frost. There’ll be frost soon on the ground. When Yuri blinks, there’s snow. The soft kind. The kind that looks good in a camera lens.

_are you here?_

It falls slow and leisurely. It makes the main building look picturesque.  It makes campus look picturesque.

Quiet.

_yura!_

Peaceful, even. Just him. Him and the grayness of Moscow in the winter. The sky’s gray when he looks up. Gray with white dots, snowflakes.

When he looks down, he’s in a café. Not a café he knows. A café he almost knows, somewhere he can almost remember. Outside, there are soft lamps, and inside the lamps are soft also. They glow.

A cup of tea slides into his hands. He looks down, hands curling automatically around it. White ceramic, with a faded gold band around the rim.

Again, something he almost remembers. The café is bright. Goes brighter, when sturdy, worn hands wrap around his.

_yura._

xxx

The only fucking reason for Yuri to drag himself out of bed is to turn in his Macro assignment. But a better reason?

His comforter is _so_ warm. That’s the best fucking reason there is, if he could have his way. Which –

“Will you fucking turn off your alarm already?”

“Yeah, we’re trying to sleep over here.”

– he can’t. Irritating roommate and irritating roommate’s girlfriend have a point.

Yuri would throw his alarm across the room if it weren’t on his phone. 12 years of waking up early for ballet haven’t even worn on his soul as much as almost two months of Macroeconomics at 10 AM have. (The fact that it’s still only February and he hasn’t even made it two months is sobering and also an awful thought, because it means there’s still _more to come_.)

The winter has been unseasonably warm ever since the semester started, but the wind bites today and it’s _freezing_. Below freezing, even. And of course he picked the wrong jacket, jamming his hands into his pockets to keep warm. Because why be warm when Moscow can just hate him instead?

And – further proof that everything is awful and there’s no redeeming today and he should’ve just stayed under his comforter – it starts _snowing_. Snow. The kind that looks all fluffy and innocent and then sticks to his hair and won’t get brushed out until it melts.

Fuck it. No class for him today. He’ll just say he was sick or something. Pass his assignment into his TA tomorrow.

Yuri pulls his hood over his head and veers away for the closest café, hurrying through the snow that’s starting to fall thick and fast now. Good. If it’s going to snow, the last it can do is stay on the ground for more than a day.

The café is warm, but not too warm. He still has to cup his hands over his mouth and blow on his fingers a little bit while he waits in line, but it’s not unpleasant. And, for almost 10 in the morning, the line is short and moves quick.

“Black tea with milk, please,” he says, sorting through bills and coins and passing over change to the barista. If he’s going to spend his morning in a café, he’s going to damn well enjoy it.

“Yura? Are you not going to class today?”

Fuck. Yuri doesn’t wince when he turns around. He winces _before_ he turns around. He doesn’t owe Otabek anything. Including being in class. But he still can’t help but feel like he’s been caught.

“It’s snowing. I didn’t feel like it,” he says, stuffing his hand in his pockets as he slides over so Otabek can order. “Besides, I’m allowed to skip. Not like the professor’s going to notice. The class is fucking huge. It’s not even a big deal.”

Otabek doesn’t scold him. Out loud. But the look he gives Yuri is clear: he wants to say something again, something that doesn’t want to come out, or maybe he doesn’t know how to force it out.

Instead he turns to the barista. “Earl grey, please.”

Yuri’s fingers itch to shove Otabek’s money back into his hand when he pays. He should cover for Otabek this time. Since he did treat Yuri to coffee. It would be impolite. If he didn’t pay Otabek back, that is. The barista’s already handing back Otabek’s change, though. Yuri just clenches his wallet instead and stuffs it securely back into his bag. Next time.

If there’s a next time. (He’s not sure if there’s going to be a next time.)

(But he kind of wants there to be.)

“If you aren’t going to class, then would you like to sit with me?” Otabek says. His voice doesn’t carry too much, and Yuri almost doesn’t know if he hears him over the din of the café. It still feels like it shakes something loose in his chest. 

“Yeah,” Yuri mumbles. And then clears his throat. “I mean, yeah. Sure.”

Otabek nods, grabbing both of their cups, and Yuri trails after him through the not-too-busy-but-still-a-little-full café.

They manage to find a table by the window, big enough only for the two of them. Yuri slings his bag over the back of his chair and Otabek sets his down between his feet. There are patrons on either side of them, but they’re all on their laptops or wrapped up in their own conversation, or maybe just soaking in their tea and bracing themselves for heading out into the snow.

Otabek wraps his hands around his teacup, just like he did in the library. Today’s cup is black, just a dark, simple black. It matches Otabek’s coat, which he drapes over the back of his chair.

He doesn’t even say anything first. They just sit. Sit and sip their tea.

It makes Yuri want to smile. There’s a smile tugging on the corner of his lips. He wants to beat it back, except. He also kind of doesn’t. Otabek puts him…at ease. Otabek is comforting.

“What made you pick finance?” Should Yuri be embarrassed that he starts with a question about school? Otabek looks pleased that Yuri even opened his mouth to say anything, though. But his smile doesn’t stem the edge of anxiety sitting somewhere low in his stomach. “I mean. Not to pry or anything. Just. Wondering. Since Macro sucks so much. Wanted to know how you actually decided to do this is all.”

Otabek sets his teacup down in its saucer with a little bit of a shrug. “It seemed like fastest path to a good job.” He looks out the window, watching the snow for a little bit. Something heavy sits in his voice, a weight that Yuri’s pretty sure he understands, but doesn’t have the room to ask about. Not after meeting him only twice.

“Make sense,” Yuri says instead. Mila would have kicked him in the shins if she were here. He can feel it like a phantom pain on his leg anyways.

“What about you? Why are you in econ?” Otabek looks at him this time, not out the window. At him, almost through him, maybe. “Did you pick it?”

 “Not exactly. Mila told me to try it. Picked it for kind of the same reason, I guess.” Yuri shifts in his seat a little, wraps his feet around the legs of his chair. He sips his tea and Otabek is _patient_ still, gives Yuri the moment to collect himself, to find what exactly it is he wants to say. “Wanted something that I’d be able to make money in. I tried for medicine at first. Decided pretty much immediately that I hated it.”

Otabek nods. Him and his nodding.

“Tried engineering, too. But have you ever actually done engineering? Like, it’s awful. Econ’s bad enough with all the math, but engineering has it even worse. There’s _physics_ involved. So, obviously, I had to get the hell out of that, too.” Yuri traces a finger around the rim of his teacup. “And then I tried fine art. But I don’t want to be fucking broke. So. Econ. But now I’ve got to find something else after this semester is over, because there’s no way I’m going through with econ.”

“Did you like art?”

“What? I mean.” Yuri glances down at his tea, then glances out at the snow. None of it can answer him, of course. No one’s really asked him about it, before. Just accepted his explanation: art was a dead end, so who cared? Admitting this – and everything else he’s told Otabek so far – feels like he’s surrendering something.

It makes his chest go a little too tight, but he still manages to answer. “I guess. I think I did. It was probably the best class I took here. But like I said. I need to do something that can get me a job.”

That’s it. That’s all the words Yuri can manage right now. Logic dictates that he can’t drown in his teacup, but his heart tells him to try anyways because logic can go die in a hole.

“I’m glad that you found something you liked,” Otabek says. The evenness in his voice is armor for the tremor that hides just below, in the bitter edge of his smile. Maybe Yuri should ask after all, since Otabek’s made such an effort to talk to _him_ , but – “I need to go to class, but we should do this again. I liked getting tea with you.”

Fuck Otabek’s sincerity and his honesty and his face and his everything, because all of it makes Yuri smile. It comes on too quickly to hide behind his cup. The bitterness in Otabek’s smile slides away and it’s just them, smiling at each other like idiots in the middle of this café with hot tea already verging on lukewarm in what will probably – considering it’s Russia – turn into a full snowstorm later.

Yuri doesn’t know Otabek Altin. He knows that Otabek is from Kazakhstan and that he should’ve been in Mila’s year, but he took a year off before he came to Moscow to study finance. He knows that Otabek doesn’t want it, but perseveres anyways because there are people counting on him. And he knows that Otabek rides a motorcycle. And that Otabek is just simple. He _is_ and doesn’t try to be more than that.

And all of this is only a sliver of who Otabek really is, probably.

So it’s with curiosity and a certain lightness that he thought he only had around Mila that Yuri agrees.

“Yes. Let’s do it.”

It’s worth it to see the smile spread on Otabek’s face.  

They exchange numbers – quickly, since Otabek still has to make his lecture. Otabek running off to be a good student does make Yuri feel almost guilty about not going to his own lecture. Almost. Macro is still Macro and therefore Hell, so Yuri just fires off an email to his TA with pictures of his assignment and hopes for the best.

The snow is still falling outside, and even without Otabek, the café and this table are both still cozy. Aesthetics aren’t really his thing on Instagram. It’s easier to just snap a careless selfie and slap a filter on than it is finding the right atmosphere.

He lines his cup up just right next to his laptop and angles his chair so he can include the window and the snow in the background.

 **yuri-plisetsky** ·  2m  
about damn time **#moscow #firstsnow #cozy**

 **❤** 15 likes

For a week straight, Yuri dreams in soft, burnt oranges and the smell of coffee grounds, in teacups and saucers with gold leaf and bright, bubbly lights. And.

And he dreams of Otabek.

Or he thinks he dreams of Otabek.

Or he dreams in pieces, glimpses of Otabek.

He’s not sure.

He just knows that when he wakes with the feeling of a hand carding through his hair, it’s Otabek’s.

xxx

“So, when’re you going to see him again, then? Did you guys set up a time? Please tell me you set up a time!”

Yuri looks up from his phone – scrolling through Otabek’s VK, now that they’ve added each other, but it’s so sparse that adding him doesn’t really tell him much more about Otabek – only long enough to roll his eyes at Mila. But, her couch is nicer than the chair in his dorm and her tea is frea. If he has to put up with some interrogation for her company and her nice apartment and her free tea, it’s not a bad deal.

“Don’t you have your own relationship to worry about?” Mila pokes her head out of the kitchen to glare at him on the couch. Whatever. “Stop nosing through mine.”

Mila comes out with two cups of surprise tea – a stupid thing she does where she won’t tell him what kind of tea she steeped and he just has to drink it anyways. She sets them down on the table, making sure they won’t topple off the edge on accident, before fucking draping herself on him.

“Does that mean there is a relationship, then? You have to tell me, you know. It’s part of the best friend rules. No secrets.” Yuri stuffs his phone into his jean pockets before she can even make the grab for it. “I tell you everything about Sara, don’t I?”

“I really don’t need to know everything about you and Sara, actually. Like, nothing at all. And definitely not how often she sends you nudes.” Yuri rolls from under her to grab his mug – garish and leopard print, just the way he likes it – to take a sip.

Hm. Floral. It’s actually nice.

“But I have to! Best friend rules. Honestly, it’s like you’re not even listening.”

“Move your fat ass, you’re crushing me!” The only reason he doesn’t shove her off is because he doesn’t want to spill his tea. The couch doesn’t deserve that. Nor does the tea.

“That’s not the kind of thing you say to a lady, you know,” Mila says. And she just lies on him _harder_ in retaliation.

“Sure, I’ll stop when you actually act like one. Now let me drink my tea.” He won’t tell her that he actually likes it, but he knows she can tell. She always knows. The uncanny insight earned from growing up together.

The silences between him and Mila stretch and yawn and curl up like a housecat. They’re more comfortable, even, than the ones Yuri shares with Otabek. Those silences are companionable, but fragile. Always fragile. They’re never far from being broken. But with Mila, when silence settles, it’s a little lazy and worn, but solid.

Running into Otabek today put him in a particularly charitable mood. He doesn’t even bat Mila’s hand away when she starts playing with his hair.

“We just happened to run into each other. And the numbers thing was totally last minute. He hasn’t even sent me anything yet.” Yuri doesn’t like the way his chest tightens at the thought. He keeps feeling emotions around Otabek and it’s concerning. “I mean. He’s probably just, like. In class or something.”

“Oh, Yurochka,” Mila says in a pitying voice, and honestly, it’s not like Yuri deserves it. No way. “I’m totally sure he’ll text you soon.”

“Oi, don’t make me sound like I’m completely hopeless, Baba.” He resists the urge to take out his phone again. To check on his Instagram post. Not to check if Otabek’s texted him and he just didn’t feel the vibration or anything. No way. “This isn’t one of your shitty chick flicks.”

“Our shitty chick flicks. You watch those with me. Don’t think I forget that.” Mila reaches over him with a cackle, and Yuri only makes a half-hearted attempt to hit her hand when she grabs for her own mug. “But that’s not what we’re talking about, don’t distract me.”

“You make it pretty easy.”

“We’re talking about you this time.” Yuri glares over his shoulder at her. “So?”

“So what? Be specific.”

“When you see him again, are you just going to go for tea? Do something more romantic, Yura! You’re moving too _slow_.”

“Okay, well we can’t all just make out with someone and then start dating with them.” The urge to check his phone again increases. A lot. Just a little. A peek at his phone. Real quick. Yuri slides it out of his back pocket, checking it long enough to check for notifications and –

“What, what, did he text back? Tell me, tell me!” Mila makes a grab for Yuri’s phone this time. At least Yuri has the presence of mind to put his mug down on the table so it doesn’t spill all over the couch (which, again, does not deserve that).

Yuri thumbs open his phone, flipping straight to his messages. “So what if he did?”

> **Beka [14:16]**  
>  Is tomorrow okay? We can meet for lunch.

She tries to angle to see over his shoulder, shoving his head down to try and see the screen. “I want to know what he says too, don’t be so selfish, Yura.”

“Shut up! If you wanted him to text you, you should ask for his number, then!” Yuri glares down at his screen. He can hardly type with Mila squeezes his arm against the sofa, but he finally manages something.

> **Me [14:16]**  
>  sounds good where?

“Yeah! Yeah, where? Tell me where!”

Mila is very lucky they’ve been friends for so long. And that Yuri can’t get a new cell phone for at least another year. Otherwise he would throw this at her head. And also through the window so she can never find it.

“No way. You’d just follow me there and watch the whole thing. Absolutely not, Baba.” He flips his phone over, just enough that only he can see it. No way is he letting Mila coming on this date.

Is it a date?

> **Beka [14:18]**  
>  I can meet you in front of the main building at 12:30 and we can decide then. 

Yuri smiles.

“Yurochka.” When he glances up from his phone, Mila looks like she’s bordering on crying. _Shit_. Oh no, Mila crying is awful, the worst, why’s he making her cry –

“Okay, okay, just! Look at my phone, fast, I’m still talking to him, don’t _cry_!” He fumbles throwing his phone at her and it lands on her chest, right on top of her boobs, which is truly a feat.

“I’m just so glad you’re making _friends_ and _boyfriends_! And, and, Yura!” At least it’s happy tears. Maybe Yuri can grab –

Too fucking late, Mila snatches the phone away before Yuri can get his phone back. She tosses it back just as quickly, but the damage is already done.

> **Me [14:21]**  
>  it’s a date! ♥

What did he do to deserve this? Who did he hurt? “I don’t even use hearts. What the fuck.”

Mila chatters about something – the merits of emojis? – but all Yuri can stare at is _date_. This is not a date. Is it a date? What if it wasn’t a date and Mila just made it a date? What if –

> **Beka [14:22]**  
>  :-)

“Holy shit, it’s a date.”

xxx

Yuri dreams of flying that night, and of never touching the ground.

xxx

Yuri’s not freaking out.

No. He’s not. He’s just. Standing in the middle of the quad leaning on a tree wearing Mila’s scarf (because his is “too tacky, you don’t need this much leopard print”, whatever that means) and a real winter coat and his backpack still slung over his shoulder. He’s early, but only because he sprinted out of 18th Century Lit so he wouldn’t be late.

Waiting’s fine. He’s just early is all. Otabek will definitely show.

His phone says it’s only 12:26.

Yuri huffs out a breath, shoving his phone back into his pocket. It’s fine. He pulls his scarf up a little higher over his face to shield it from the wind and stinging snow – although “snow” is generous, it’s more like some freezing cold rain.

He’s not checking his phone again. Not even when it buzzes in his pocket. It’s probably just Mila with another pep talk. He stopped reading after the last one said something about not bringing up his cat or school, and he spaced out after that. Why shouldn’t he talk about Yulia?

A motorcycle jacket runs through the quad, holding a messenger bag to its side, running right up to Yuri and –

“Hey,” he calls out, waving a little to catch Otabek’s attention, pulling his scarf up a little higher when Otabek redirects to run towards him instead.

“Hey.”

They stare at each other. Small, fake snow-rain is blowing in Yuri’s face and all he wants to do is to try and hide behind his scarf. Or say something. Or just –

Yuri clenches his hand in his pockets. Fragile. Things are still so fragile between them. It’s so easy – too easy – to misstep right now. He doesn’t like this feeling of being scared. He doesn’t know _how_ to be scared, but he thinks it starts something like this – unsure and unprepared.

“I don’t really – ”

“Did you have somewhere you – ?”

The staring is back. Yuri is going to strangle this silence and the staring and the feeling scared because this is madness. And unnecessary. It is ending.

“Okay. I don’t really care where we go. Wherever you were planning. We should go there.” Mila said not to be himself. At least, in her words, “not the scary, asshole-ish parts” of himself. Because those parts are apparently “scary”.

It doesn’t send Otabek running, so Mila obviously can suck it. Otabek hardly even looks fazed.

“Do you have another class today?”

Yuri grins.

xxx

The bike is a motorcycle, not a bicycle, and Yuri’s grandfather would maybe have a heart attack if he saw Yuri riding on the back of it. (Mila would just ask if Yuri wrapped his arms around Otabek with a lewd smile.)

(He does. Wrap his arms around Otabek, that is. He doesn’t have to, but it gets him a small smile over Otabek’s shoulder.)

They ride out, swerving through traffic and down alleys. The wind whips bitter and almost freezing, but Yuri buries his face into Otabek’s back and keeps his head down. Moscow flashes by, faster and more scenic than taking the bus or metro lines.

They park on a quieter street in Moscow. There are people milling and a couple of lost tourists asking for directions, but it’s like the street itself is slower. Not as slow as the street he lived on in his quiet suburb. Living in Moscow as a student, though, has been lively, but any time he’s gone out with Mila, it’s always been to places closer to campus, student places.

This street actually feels like someone could live. Like their daily, non-student lives. Like, an actual future beyond university.

“I thought we could go to Gorky Park,” Otabek says, motioning for Yuri to follow him. “We’ll have to walk over, but it’s not too far. Do you skate?”

“I haven’t in a couple of years, but it’s like I’ve forgotten how or anything,” Yuri says. Ballet had consumed him instead, growing up. “I mean, it’s not hard.”

Otabek nods. “There’s a rink that I found when I came last spring, but it had already closed for the season. I’ve been wanting to visit. We can get something to eat before and then skate a little.”

“I told you, whatever you were thinking. I’m willing to go with it.” _I trust you_ catches in his throat. He can’t say that. They don’t know each other. Now, Yuri can add that he knows Otabek rides a motorcycle, and maybe that he likes parks and ice skating.

It’s just one date. Their first (he’s still not sure if the last time in the café was a date or not, though?) date. He wants to learn more, maybe. If this goes well. That’s what he tells himself. If this goes well.

(The small fluttering thing in his chest feels like it’s only grown since their first meeting, though.)

Yuri takes a deep breath, bracing himself with the chilly Moscow air. Leave it to this fucking city to suddenly hit a cold snap the moment everyone believes it’ll hit spring soon. But it helps to focus and maybe shove down some of the fuzziness in his chest.

Calm. It’s just one date. Walking through Moscow on a cold and gray day is nothing special. Or it is a little because Otabek is here. But it’s still just one date. He can do one date.

Another deep breath, just to clear his head. This is no different from the cafés. Not at all.

Otabek is quiet, glancing around every now and then like he’s checking something – maybe where they are in the city. Yuri likes to get off campus, but this is further than he’s gotten on foot anywhere. Riding on a bike through Moscow was exhilarating, rushing past buildings like flying through the city. Slowing down and taking in the city as is has its own kind of exhilaration, though.

A quiet street like this is like finding a secret. Something small and quiet that he can have with Otabek. Just with Otabek. No one else has to find out about it.

Even this – even with this – Yuri is happy.

But the quiet street spills out to the river, and soon things aren’t so quiet anymore. There are tourists crawling everywhere all of a sudden and Yuri has to press a little closer to Otabek, because he is not getting lost in the city with no way back.

“It’s not too far. Sorry to make you walk so much.”

“What, I don’t mind walking.” Yuri presses a little against Otabek, bumps him a little with his shoulder. “Your motorcycle’s pretty cool.”

“Thank you.” Something loosens in Yuri a little, when Otabek smiles down at him, enough to make the smile that Yuri returns soft. Scared? Who needs scared? Not Yuri. “When we come back, I can go ahead to bring the bike back for you. So you don’t have to walk so much.”

“No, I told you, this is fine. I like this.” Walking through Moscow and Otabek at his side and even the snow-rain falling fast in his face. All of it. He can’t hate any of it. “This is nice. We can just. Talk. Like. Like how long have you had your bike for

When Otabek smiles – like a real smile, full on, without stiffness – it’s like the fucking sun and Yuri almost forgets how to walk. A couple of tourists yelp when he stumbles through them, but he stays upright at least.

“I bought it last year, when I stayed in the city for the summer. Sheshe was worried, but I couldn’t buy a car. It’s not so different from the bike I have at home, so I think that put her at ease a little bit,” Otabek says. They’ve slowed down, after the river. Their walk is almost leisurely. Cute, even.

Thank God Mila isn’t here to see this.

“Is sheshe your…?”

“Excuse me.” Otabek doesn’t do expressions well, Mila concluded after flipping through his VK, with its distinct lack of pictures. But he pulls abashed well enough. “Sheshe is Kazakh for ‘mother’. I forgot.”

“No, it’s okay. So, who else do you have in your family?” Yuri decides. He likes the way Otabek looks when he’s embarrassed and shy about it. It’s a good look on him.

“There’s me, sheshe, yeka.” Otabek pauses, glancing down at Yuri. “Yeka is father. In Kazakh. And I have two sisters – they’re both younger than me. One just started college back in Kazakhstan, the other is still in high school. Our grandparents live with us, since my father is the oldest of his siblings. Our aunts and uncles drop by often as well.”

Yuri’s eyes widen. “That’s…a lot,” he says. And he means it. “Like, in a good way! It’s a lot in a good way! It’s just my grandfather and I. Sometimes my mom comes to see me, but –”

But.

Yuri’s voice sticks, tight, trapped somewhere in his chest.

But what?

Otabek catches him by the elbow. It makes Yuri’s heart catch and stutter a little bit, too. He tugs them to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk. The tourists he nearly bowled over before look even more disgruntled when _they_ run into _him_ this time.

Damn. Dammit, of course Otabek would notice, because that’s just what he _does_ apparently.

When Yuri finally turns around, Otabek releases his arm. “Yuri, it’s okay.”

His voice is soft, protective, gentle, and too good for Yuri. Yuri doesn’t deserve him. Or this _concern_. And he definitely doesn’t deserve the way Otabek is so careful with him. And most importantly, Otabek doesn’t need all of Yuri’s problems unloaded onto him.

(Instead of sharing, he’s going to shove them in a hole and they’re going to die there.) (It’s fine.)

The excuses sit, waiting to spill out, and he’s about to maybe vomit all of them when Otabek - good and amazing and warm – Otabek puts his hand on Yuri’s. He doesn’t smile, but he’s warm, and he’s focused. On Yuri.

“It’s okay. If you want to, just know that I’m willing to listen.”

xxx

Yuri likes Groky Park, now that it’s been renovated. He hasn’t had the chance to come since starting university; it’s too far away to make the trip worth it. And still, it’s one of his favorite places in Moscow. More in the spring and summer than the winter, when the sky is washed out and the trees are weary from the cold.

But he still likes it _especially_ today. The tourists are at a minimum – off in the warmer and less outside spots in Moscow – and the snow-rain has slowed down.

And Otabek is still here.

The fragile thing between him and Otabek hasn’t broken, but it’s not the same. It’s charged and a little sharp around the edges and is maybe ten minutes and a wrong word away from shattering.

But it’s still there, hovering somewhere between them. Maybe in the space between their hands at the point where their fingers almost – _almost_ – brush.

“So. You said lunch. Where are we going?” Yuri says. His voice is weaker than he wants it to be, but this is what he knows.

Otabek shrugs.

Good. Territory Yuri is familiar with and can navigate easily enough.

It feels better to just shove his feelings away and pretend like this is Mila that he’s out with. (But not exactly, because that would feel weirdly…weird. Just not right.) It feels better to just pretend like Yuri didn’t even try to bring up his mother at all.

“Let’s go somewhere casual, then. If that’s –?”

“It’s perfect.” Otabek looks a little relieved, in fact, to let Yuri choose.

“I came here a lot in high school with my friends, so all I really know are the cheap places,” Yuri says with a shrug of his own.

“You’re from Moscow?” Otabek asks. Their fingers actually brush this time, when they have to crowd together to let a group of bikers go past. “I didn’t know that.”

“I grew up here. Out in the suburbs, but close enough to the city. Either my grandfather or Mila’s parents would drive us down.” The memories of wandering through Moscow in the summer make him feel light. “But I’ve never been to the rink before.”

“Then we can try it together,” Otabek says.

It makes Yuri flush, but he’s going to conveniently leave that out of any retelling Mila gets.

They find lunch at a casual stand further into the park, a little sad and cold in the winter, but the workers are happy enough to take their money.

The same moment of indecision grips Yuri as at the café earlier that week. He should pay for Otabek.

“Let me –” he starts, and that’s all he gets out, because Otabek sends him a glare. An honest-to-God glare. “Fine. I’m going to pay you back for the coffee eventually.”

“Next time, then,” Otabek says while he puts his change away. He says it so _evenly_ that Yuri has to look away so Otabek can’t see him flush again.

“N-next time,” Yuri finally chokes out when Otabek passes him his lunch, and he hates Otabek a little for getting him so flustered so easily.

(Yuri knows now; Mila kill a man to be here right now. Mila would kill a man for a lot of things, though.)

Lunch is quiet. They find a bench to sit on while they eat and it’s just. Quiet.

Maybe because Yuri won’t look Otabek in the eye and stares out on the gray lawn instead. Probably that. He _thinks_ Otabek doesn’t mind. But Otabek doesn’t say anything either, even when he finishes his food before Yuri’s even halfway done with his. (Real, actual food not from the dining hall is so new and different, honestly, it’s amazing.)

He just smirks – smiles? – at Yuri, one hand full with trash, and the other still a respectable distance (way too far, in Yuri’s opinion) away from Yuri’s.

“What?” Yuri knocks his shoulder against Otabek’s. “What are you looking at? What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.” That damn smile is still there, even when Otabek stands and stretches and reaches a hand out to Yuri. (He stretches really nicely; Yuri is ashamed that he wants to wish a jacket out of existence, but there it is.)

Yuri spends too long staring at his (very nice) hands and takes too long to decide, because Otabek offers, “Can I throw that out for you?”

“Throw –?” Confusion is apparently more evident on his face than disappointment, because Otabek motions down at the wrapper still in Yuri’s hands. “Oh. Oh yeah. Yeah, sure, thanks.”

Okay, so he really, really would’ve liked to hold Otabek’s hand. He may have dreamt about the moment earlier in the week.

He just wants to know what it’ll be like when Otabek’s fingers lace through his. That’s all.

Okay, new plan: consider not thinking about holding Otabek’s hand. Yuri stuffs his into his jacket. Good. Good plan.

“Do you still want to go skating? If not, we can go back. I know I only asked you out for lunch,” Otabek trails off with a bit of a shrug.

“No,” Yuri says. And then blinks at the surprise on Otabek’s face. “I mean, yes. Yes, I want to go skating with you. We can still do that, yeah? It’s okay?”

And that shouldn’t be a question, but apparently, his nerves haven’t gotten the message to _stop_.

“It’s over this way.”

They start walking again, and silence lapses between them. Again. It’s not uncomfortable. But Yuri wants more. A lot more.

“Hey. Beka,” Yuri says, and tries to squish down the fluttering in his chest when the smile spreads slowly across Otabek’s face. “I mean, do you ice skate? Mother almost made me skate, but she decided she liked the way ballet looked more.”

“You were a ballet dancer?” Otabek eyes him critically. Like he’s looking for something. Something stalwart – more stubborn than he thinks actually exists in him – helps Yuri to not shrink under Otabek’s scrutiny. “I understand. I’m sure that you were beautiful.”

“Fuck,” Yuri breathes out in response.

Why the fuck does Otabek get to be so fucking charming, huh?

“I skated a little, when I was younger,” Otabek says, breezing on as if he didn’t just throw Yuri such a huge compliment that Yuri’s _still_ a little winded from it. “But there wasn’t enough money for me to continue. My coach was disappointed. She said I could’ve been really great, if I only could keep working hard.”

“How long ago was that?”

Otabek muses quietly for a moment. And then a long couple of moments, which is long enough for the guilt to well in Yuri. Maybe he shouldn’t be mentioning this? Maybe this – ice skating – is one of _those_ topics for Otabek.  

“When I was 9,” he says finally. Good, Yuri hasn’t screwed up monumentally. “My coach wanted to send me away for a training camp. My parents couldn’t afford that.”

“Have you skated since then?” Otabek shrugs.

“I kept up for another few years, but I quit in order to focus on school after that. I’ve skated some to keep up with my skills, but.” The small and embarrassed smile on Otabek’s face is so precious, Yuri wants to take a picture of it and share it with everyone. And also make it his phone’s lock screen and never let anyone see it. Or both. “When I was 15, after I’d quit, I tried to jump a Salchow. Just to see if I could.”

“Seriously? Can you still do it? How did it go?” Now he can add more to list about Otabek: that Otabek skates. Or did skate, when he was younger.

“I fell pretty badly. I haven’t tried since,” Otabek says with a low laugh. And _shit_ , his laugh is amazing too. Like, incredible. Yuri was not prepared for this at all. Or how open and carefree his face his when he laughs. “How about you? How long did you dance ballet for?”

Yuri tries not to sigh, fails, and sighs. “Too long. Way too long. Mother wanted me to major in dance. Grandfather talked her out of it eventually, but she pushed very hard for it. I started when I was three and haven’t stopped until now.”

“That’s amazing.”

Has Yuri decided on a favorite expression that Otabek makes yet? No? Well now he has, and it’s the way Otabek looks at him with awe, like Yuri is one of the greatest things he’s ever seen.

He doesn’t deserve it, but the expression is. It’s warm and it makes Yuri want to hide his face and it makes his heart beat too hard in his chest.

It’s everything.

“I-I guess, but my mother really forced me into it.” Yuri tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. “It was fun. I liked it for a long time, but when I wanted to stop, I wasn’t allowed to. Kind of messed up, isn’t it? I wasn’t allowed to stop and you were forced to.”

“Our parents make choices for us. Sometimes they aren’t in our best interests.” When Otabek says it, it sounds so simple, like Yuri really can blame his mother for everything.

Otabek can say almost anything, though, and Yuri would believe it, he thinks.

xxx

Even on a day as gray as this – not so unseasonably warm as it was earlier in the winter, but still not a real Moscow winter – the rink is still a little busy.

“No, let me get this one.” Otabek glares at him, and then down at Yuri’s hand, where he has Otabek’s wrist in his grasp. (Not his hand, though. They still haven’t held hands – incidentally or otherwise.) “Beka. Seriously. I haven’t paid you back for the coffee at the library let. Let me.”

The fact that Otabek can pout is really giving Yuri life. He doesn’t do it very obviously; that seems to be his modus operandi, not doing things too obviously. The downturn in the corners of his mouth, the furrowing of his brow, the small pursing of his lips.

It’s amazing.

Everything Otabek does seems to be quite amazing, though.

They shuffle over to an empty bench and Otabek _kneels_ in front of him to help him lace up his skates and –

Part of Yuri really, really wants to snap a picture of this? And send it to Mila. And then she’ll take it the wrong way immediately.

No. Bad thought. Too inappropriate. That’s not first date material.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, Yura,” Otabek says as he sits in the spot next to Yuri. His fingers are deft and confident. Like he never stopped skating, or maybe it never left him. “Are you ready, then?”

Walking in skates is a little wobbly and requires a certain amount of balance, but not more than Yuri has after years of ballet. Unlike Otabek, who looks entirely at home walking around on a blade, Yuri doesn’t think he’s about to fall over, but he grabs Otabek’s arm anyways for support.

“Yeah,” he says, “okay, let’s do this.”

“I’ll catch you,” Otabek laughs, just a little, when he wraps an arm around Yuri’s shoulders to steady him. They walk out to the rink together.

Well. Otabek walks. Yuri wobbles a little.

xxx

Ice skating is like flying through the city, but better.

Honestly, fuck his mom for picking ballet for him instead of skating. Because gliding down the ice and people blurring past him is exhilarating. The laughter bubbles out of Yuri before he can stop it, even when he runs into the wall because stopping on the ice is convoluted.

And Otabek is really the best part. He can skate _backwards_ (which he’s not supposed to do, and turns around every time they pass by the entrance), his hands gripping Yuri’s wrists, skating around people, careful and smooth and graceful.

Fuck. Yuri can see him, skating alone in a rink, with a whole crowd watching him. Only him. Yuri can see it, what Otabek could’ve been. If only. If a lot of things.

“Beka, Beka,” Yuri chokes out, with a bubble of laughter again. “You’re amazing at this. I didn’t even know you could skate. This is amazing.”

“You’re pretty good at this yourself,” Otabek says the way he says everything: sincere and without sarcasm, because he always does this. His hands tighten on Yuri’s wrists to steer him out of the way of a gaggle of girls – all of whom are giggling at them.

It makes Yuri blush, but in his defense, who wouldn’t?

“Hey, are you tired? You look a little flushed. We can sit down if you want.” Why does Otabek have to notice and actually be nice about this? It’s not fair at all.

“Sure, I mean. Yeah. Just for a little bit, okay? We gotta come back to this again. I want to keep skating. With you.” Yuri doesn’t _do_ embarrassed. He does disgruntled and upset and pissed off. He does grudging very, very well.

But _embarrassed_ is. New. And really consuming. And also hard to stop. And it makes his face feel warm. All the time.

Which isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s just. It’s weird. Different.

“We’ll rest for a couple of minutes and then come back. You have to rest a little, though. We can’t skate forever,” Otabek says, tugging them off to the side to go claim a bench. They end up having to share with an old couple who are just watching everybody skate, but Yuri will take any excuse if it means he gets to press up closer against Otabek’s side.

“Tell me more about home, Yura,” Otabek says when they get settled.

“Most of the time, it’s just me and Grandfather. I didn’t really know my dad but he left and we did fine without him. Grandfather doesn’t talk about him often.” Yuri is matter of fact. That’s the only way to talk about his family, really.

Otabek opens his mouth to ask another question before Yuri holds a finger up. “I get a question if you get a question.” Otabek nods. Serious to the end. “All right. Why’d you pick Moscow?”

There’s a beat of silence between them. Long enough for the old couple next to them to shoot them a smile and whisper conspiratorially with each other. Which. Of course even the old couple is talking about them.

“I wanted a change. From Almaty. I love my parents, and I love my family, but…”

“But you wanted to get away,” Yuri finishes for him, looking out into the rink. “Yeah. Yeah, same.”

The sounds of the rink crowd around them. Even the old couple is mumbling. About them again. Yuri can catch “the blond one” every now and then.

“Do…you want to go back?” Yuri says, standing slowly. He _is_ a little sore from skating, but it’s not even too bad. Yet. Mila will make fun of him for sure tomorrow. He holds out his hand for Otabek this time. “Come on.”

Otabek takes his hand, and it’s just as warm as Yuri hoped it would be.

xxx

They stumble away from the rink an hour later, when the rink has to shut down for maintenance. Yuri can mostly feel his legs. Which is better than he supposes it could be.

“Selfie for the road, I want to get this on insta,” Yuri says, dragging Otabek in close. He grins, pressed up against Otabek. After the camera noise goes off, Otabek laces their fingers together, and Yuri’s breath still catches a little at the feel of Otabek’s fingertips against his.

So he, of course, busies himself with the photo instead, like that might work off the butterflies (fine, they’re fucking butterflies, okay) in his chest.

The picture comes out clean, with just a little bit of a blur from the people behind them. Yuri’s grin doesn’t look forced, for once. And Otabek – well. Otabek doesn’t smile wide or anything, but his smile is there. His eyes even crinkle a little around the corners.

Maybe Yuri just…won’t put this one up on Instagram.

Maybe he’ll make it his lock screen, also.

He saves the picture and locks his phone quick after that, squeezing Otabek’s hand a little to get his attention. Otabek’s a fucking saint for not pointing out how much Yuri’s cheeks are burning right now.

“Hey, let’s go back already. I don’t even know if I’ll make it back to the bike,” he complains, bumping Otabek’s shoulder.

“If you fall over, I’ll be sure to catch you.”

Honestly, Otabek should never flirt. Ever. It’s not good for Yuri’s health.

“That’s. Yeah. Yeah, that’s a really. Just,” Yuri fumbles and flubs and tries to will the heart that’s trying to climb out his throat back into his chest. “Good. Good plan. Very solid.”

Otabek smirks a little and holy fuck can he smirk. Literally, Yuri has never been more unprepared for an event like this in his whole goddamn life.

“I’m teasing. Let’s hurry back, and we won’t hit traffic.” Otabek’s smile smooths into place and Yuri tries not to stare still. And fails pretty badly.

All he can really do is nod in response.

xxx

When they get back on campus and Otabek parks his bike near the main building to walk Yuri back to his dorm, the quad is alive and filled with people rushing.

From places.

To places.

Everyone has places to be, including Yuri. He still has his backpack on, and he still has to try and crack this stupid macro assignment that’s still there. And no doubt, Otabek also has homework to do as well. Probably worse than Yuri’s.

But they still take their goddamn time, winding around people and trees on their way to the dormitories, talking about mostly nothing, but it feels like something.

At some point, Otabek takes Yuri’s hand and it feels like they belong and that this – all of this – is worth having.

xxx

A week later, Otabek posts a picture he took from their date of Yuri sitting on the park bench waiting and tags him in it.

 **otabek-altin** ·  2m  
I had a good time, @yuri-plisetsky.

 **❤** 106 likes

And why the fuck does Otabek make him look so _nice_ in his pictures? Like, sure Yuri wasn’t trying to look like a slob on a date. But Otabek catches the right angle – an angle that Yuri’s not even sure he had? – that makes his face look much less angular than it normally does. There’s sparse, weak lighting from the sun that usually makes him look washed out, but of course Otabek picked the right filter that doesn’t make his hair look flat, braided around the sides, loose and draped over his shoulders.

Is this how Otabek sees him?

Yuri’s heart skips a beat. It fucking skips a beat, which is a real thing. He believes it now, completely. Because it keeps fucking happening around Otabek.

But _maybe_ Yuri hasn’t really mentioned anything to any of his friends about it, so when he sees it in the library – studying for another fucking hell on earth pset thanks, macro – his phone gets stuffed under the table he’s studying at once he finally catches himself staring.

“Yura.” Mila nudges him in the side, pointing down at her paper. There are already people giving her dirty looks for even whispering his name.

_Did Beka send something dirty?_

“Right, I’m done,” Yuri says, pushing away from the table and packing up his stuff at the speed of “get away from Mila as quickly as possible”.

She follows him down to the café anyways, after motioning to someone else to watch her stuff.

Yuri does not pinch the bridge of his nose when Mila steps in line behind him. He glares at the barista. Restraint.

But that’s unfair to the barista who has done nothing wrong, so he glares Mila.

“What, I thought it was a pretty reasonable assumption. You went _really_ red, you know.” Mila’s teasing, mostly. She’s not wrong though. He flushes too easily. (He has to fix this before the teasing gets worse; what if she teases him in front of Otabek?)

“Do you really think he’d send me something like that?” Serious question. Does Yuri have to deal with an Otabek who can talk dirty also?

The thought isn’t good for his heart.

Mila glances over Yuri’s shoulder and fucking _leers_.

“Why don’t you ask him?”

“I’m not going to –”

“Yura.” Otabek has a to-go cup and he looks clearly surprised when Yuri turns around.

What he means to say is something more like “hi, I fucking love your picture” and what actually comes out is, “Fuck.”

Mila sighs next to him.

“I didn’t know you knew Mila,” Otabek continues. There’s still some residual surprise from seeing Yuri, but most of it gives way to amusement.

“Yeah, I gue –”

“ _Yurochka_ ,” Mila cuts in, looping an arm over his shoulders and all but fucking _falling_ on him, “and I grew up together! How do you and my little kitten know each other?”

Yuri should have expected a question like that, but shit, he didn’t even think Mila was serious about knowing Otabek at all.

Truly a lesson to never doubt Mila’s people skills.

Otabek raises an eyebrow, glancing at Yuri. For permission. To slap a label on this thing that they haven’t talked about, but Yuri _wants_ desperately.

Like holding hands around people. And hugs and kisses. All of the gross PDA like that. And messaging Otabek good morning, first thing in the morning. Or sleeping together and waking up together in the morning. (That last thought has him blushing too much, abort–)

But he wants all of it. More than he thinks he’s ever wanted anything.

So he nods, just a little.

“We’re dating.”

Mila is mostly containing herself, although whether it’s from laughing or from squealing, Yuri doesn’t know and doesn’t particularly want to find out. He slips out from under her arm to hold Otabek’s other hand, the one not holding tea.

“Yeah. D-dating.”

Mila keeps most of it in. A small squeak escapes.

xxx

Yuri doesn’t know if he’s been so happy before in his life.

xxx

> **Me [1:31]  
>  ** hey, beka
> 
> **Beka** **♥** **[1:31]**  
>  Yura, it’s late, what’s wrong?
> 
> **Me [1:34]**  
>  nothing sorry i didn’t see what time it was fuck  
>  just  
>  fuck sorry i didn’t mean to wake you
> 
> **Me [1:35]**  
>  can we
> 
> **Me [1:36]**  
>  i just really want to see you is all
> 
> **Beka** **♥** **[1:36]  
>  ** Do you want to meet for tea in the morning?
> 
> **Me [1:38]  
>  ** yeah
> 
> **Beka** **♥** **[1:38]  
>  ** Is 10 okay? I’ll meet you at the café by the economics building.
> 
> **Me [1:39]  
>  ** sure
> 
> **Me [1:41]  
>  ** thanks
> 
> **Beka** **♥** **[1:41]**  
>  Get some sleep, Yura.  Sladkikh snov.
> 
> **Me [1:41]  
>  **♥****

**Author's Note:**

> follow me @[apolloinred](http://apolloinred.tumblr.com/) on tumblr! come hang out with me idk. title is from "fake it" by bastille.
> 
> psst if there's russian and you're on your computer, hover over it


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